


Him and I

by biprincess



Category: TEOTFW (Netflix), The End Of The Fucking World (Netlfix), The End Of The Fucking World (TV), teotfw
Genre: Angst, Brief mentions of the assault that almost happened to Alyssa, Brief thought of suicide, F/M, I love my fucked up loves, I'm always a slut for relationships I don't think I'd condone in real life, They gotta talk about shit, but brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 15:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14168148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biprincess/pseuds/biprincess
Summary: James has just killed someone, putting him and Alyssa in a whole new world of danger. Alyssa's got a question; when she finds out the answer, will she able to handle it?How much longer can they run from their mistakes? Will they survive the choices they've made?





	1. James

The big question is: if I could do it all over again, what would I change?

There are so many options, aren't there? I've made so many mistakes, it seems hard to choose just one.

We could rewind, to right after I killed that creep.

I can still see him, the look on his face, the complete shock, and this feeling washes over me, like an ocean. I can't describe it, exactly, but it's overwhelming in its weight, and it's made itself at home deep in my chest.

Alyssa seems to be handling it better than I am, though; in fact, she doesn't seem affected by what happened at all. She was calm enough to suggest we change our appearances, though there wasn't much we could do - my hair ends up shorter, Alyssa's does, too, and blonde. When she wears her sunglasses, you could be looking at any girl; me, not so much. I’m so awkward that it tend to make people uncomfortable, and my hand is so fucked up that it’s hard to forget.

She is quiet, though. She hasn't said much since - when we first embarked on this road trip, she talked so much it drove me crazy. But after some time, I found it endearing, comforting, and now here I am, missing her voice so much it aches just as much as everything else.

We couldn’t afford to pay for a room, and I thought we were going to have to sleep in the car - but Alyssa was insistent that we stay in a room. As we pulled up to the motel, we saw the maid cleaning the rooms, leaving a number of doors open to do so. Alyssa tells me that she’s going to go talk to the maid, make up some excuse, and that I needed to follow her and get into one of the rooms. 

She says, “Be careful! Don’t fuck us over.”

I do as I’m told, shutting the door behind me as I wait for her to come back.

Minutes pass, then I hear a knock on the door, practically running to get to it.

Alyssa comes through the door, carrying towels. The diversion worked, and we’re safe for now.

Now we sit on the bed, cross legged to have room. Junk food surrounds us; candy, chips, energy drinks and sodas. Alyssa has been munching for some time now, but I haven’t touched anything.

I keep looking at her, willing her to speak. Or for me to speak. For anything to happen between us, anything at all.

"Alyssa -"

"Eat something." she cuts me off, tossing a bag of chips at me.

I don't want to eat, but I open the bag anyway. I don't want to argue about something so trivial when I know that what I'm about to say will probably be the be all end all of arguments.

"I'm really sorry I killed that guy." the words tumble out of my mouth in one big rush, before I lose my nerve to speak altogether. I sound childish, annoying, but I’m desperate.

Alyssa pauses,seemingly debating my words. For a moment I think she's going to answer; instead she breaks the Poptart in half and takes a big bite, pulling a strand of hair away from her mouth. She chews as though she didn’t hear me.

It makes me feel like I should talk more, so I continue on. "I didn't mean to, I swear, but he was going to hurt you, and I didn't know what to do, and it all happened so fucking fast -”

"Where'd you get the knife?" she asks, breaking off another piece of the snack and popping it into her mouth. Her voice is eerily calm.

I falter, because there's something about her demeanor that I find unsettling. "What?"

"The knife." she repeats. "Where'd you get it?"

Oh, shit. The fucking knife.

"Uh..." I'm scrambling for words here. "The kitchen."

Kitchens have knives, right? Yeah, they do.

"You're lying." she says, dropping the Poptart on the bed and wiping her hand on her dress. She fixes me with a stare that makes me want to look away, but I don't. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"No.” I say, knowing better than to push my limits with her.

"Clearly you do." she says. "Because you're straight up fucking lying. You see, I kept thinking, 'Where the hell did James get that knife?' Because I know it's a pocket knife, James. Not a fucking kitchen knife. And I kept wondering, "Well, why does he have that? Where did he get it? The answer was right in front of me, but I just didn't want to see it. You want to know why I couldn’t see it?”

I say nothing, knowing it’s rhetorical.

“Because I liked you! My god, I thought I fucking loved you!” 

The words are like an arrow to my heart, especially thought. This is the first time I look at her, completely, and I can see in the deep breath she’s surprised she said that. I’m surprised she said that. This feels almost surreal, because that was so not what I was expecting, because how the fuck could she love me? Is she being serious? How could she possibly love me?

“I thought I loved you, James.” she repeats, whispering to herself.

I stay frozen on the bed - she loved me. That changes everything. How is that possible? Have I messed up so bad that this can’t be saved? Am I about to?

"Unfuckingbelievable." she climbs off the bed, talking to herself now. "God, I am so stupid!”

“I know what you meant to do with that knife, “ she addresses me again, “And yet, I thought, but he didn't. He didn't actually do anything, and instead he saved me. So maybe he likes me. But maybe you just wanted to kill someone, and you didn't care who. Maybe I got too close to you so you chose someone else.”

"That's not true!" I exclaim. "Well, I mean, some of it is, but -"

"So you were going to kill me, then?" 

I don’t know what to say. All I am thinking is, Oh, jesus fuck. This has gotten way out of hand. There's too much emotion here and I don't know how to deal with it. Should I just tell her? What if I did? What if I up and told her the truth? She loved me, once. Does she deserve to know the truth for that?

"Did you like killing that guy?" Alyssa interrupts my thoughts. "Did you plan on it?"

"No!" I exclaim, the first real word I've gotten in since we started talking. "God, no. It was fucking horrible, I never want to do anything like that ever again. I only did it because he was going to hurt you. I had to!”

She studies me, as though she's trying to judge if I'm telling the truth. It is true; killing him was the worst thing I've ever done, and the guilt of doing so is already weighing me.I don’t think I’ll ever escape it.

"And me?" her voice calms out surprisingly quiet. "Did you plan on killing me?"

I look anywhere but her. I look at the tacky 70’s wallpaper, peeling up in the corner.

The room grows silent, deafening, as she waits for me to answer. It's hard to say no to Alyssa- right now I'd give anything for it to be easy.

“Yes." I say. God, I hate myself so much.

She nods slowly, like she knew this; tears well up in her eyes. 

Just like that, she's scared of me. And why shouldn't she be, after what I just told her? Does it matter that I didn't actually do it? I know better than to think so. God, how did we get so fucked?! How do I fix this?

She loved you.

"Alyssa." I stand, so we're only inches from each other, but she takes a few steps back to put space between us.

"I thought you liked me." she whispers. "I thought it was you and me. I thought we were in this together."

"We are." I say. She looks so scared that I want to just pull her to me and never let go. If I knew how to assure that there was nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all; that I'm not who I thought I was, not even close, I’d do it right now.

"But we're not." her voice breaks. "Don't you see? We're not! You've ruined it. You've ruined everything, James."

She's crying for real now, which is unexpected. Alyssa has never cried in front of me, not ever - in fact, she hasn't shown much emotion at all. This is new; and so is the feeling that’s growing in my chest. I think it's guilt. Sadness? Anger, at myself? Love? Is it possible to feel all that all at once?

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask, because I think I should. 

She swallows, her voice shaking as she speaks. She stares at the floor. "Where would you go? What good would it do if we're apart?"

"I just want you to feel safe." I answer. "I would never hurt you, Alyssa. I fucked up, that’s all. I thought I knew what I wanted, thought I knew what this trip was about. But I was wrong, because you’re different, because I’m different, and it took this trip for me to see that. I need you.”

Her head whips up.

“I need you. But not if you’re scared of me.”

"I'm not scared of you." she says, after a beat. "Well, I am, but not as much as I'm scared of - of -" 

"Of what?" It's like she doesn't know how to speak what she's thinking.

"Of me." she says, finally. "Of myself. Because I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay. I don't want you to go anywhere, because I think we should be together. And I know what you meant to do, but part of me kind of...doesn't care, because I expected it. I knew you were a freak when I got in the car with you. And on top of that, you didn't - you didn't kill me. You saved me instead. There has to be a reason you did that."

"You know the reason." I say.

“Yes.” she says.

"You know what you mean to me, don't you?" 

I know she does, but she doesn't say anything, waits for me to tell her.

"You mean everything to me."

Okay, this is new. I didn't know this, but it must be true, because I'm not lying anymore. If she stays with me, even after what I told her, then this is real. The only real thing I have.  
Alyssa closes the space between us. She reaches for my hand, but stops, as though something has just occurred to her.

"Are you lying to me?" she asks. "I'll kick your ass if you're lying to me."

I laugh aloud, shake my head no, I'm not lying to you.

She takes my good hand in her then, intertwines our fingers. I think she's going to leave it at that, but then she takes my messed up one, too, like it's nothing, and we stand like this, with each other. Traffic lights dance across the walls of what is sure to be our last oasis, this crappy motel off the highway that I suddenly miss so much, even though I’m still here.

Can you believe that we’ve come to this? That this girl standing before me, with her dyed blonde her with her crooked teeth and her smile that I would do anything to see, that she’d come to mean to much to me? I like everything about her, every last thing, her sailor’s mouth and her kisses and the way she makes me feel and the way she makes me feel things. I drink her in like I’m looking at a true angel, because I think I just might be.

The tip of her nose is red from crying; her cheeks tear stained, but eyes dry. Her voice is unwavering as she says,

"Are you sure you about this, James? About us? Cause I'm not sure how this is going to end, and I'm really fucking scared that it’s going to end badly. We killed someone -” I notice that she says we, and I wish she hadn’t, "- And we’re going to have to suffer the consequences sooner or later.”

“It’ll be okay, “ I assure her. “I promise.”

Because I'm about to turn 18 - Alyssa's still a minor. For a while now, I've known what I could do if we're caught; the free pass I could give to Alyssa. I know now that I'll do it, no question. 

Yes, I'm just as scared as she is, probably more so. As Alyssa wraps her arms around me, rests her head over my heart, I know I'll play the role of her protector for now. But I also know that I was never her protector - she was mine.


	2. Alyssa

I know, I know - what the fuck is wrong with me? I must be some kind of hella messed to up to stay with a boy who planned on killing me. But do you think I'd make it out there on my own? A girl like me? No fucking way. I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for James. But then again, I could have been dead because of him, too. 

But, he didn't actually hurt me. I keep focusing on that, because he saved me. It's still messed up, oh, definitely - but he did save me nonetheless. That creep would have assaulted me if James hadn't been there, and I am so thankful that he was. Does a good act cancel out a bad one, even if it wasn't actually committed? I don't know- that’s some shit that adults think about. Right now I have to focus on the fact that James and I are 50 shades of fucked.

I want to lay in bed forever, but the morning sun is burning tiny holes on my skin. James has laid his hands over my waist, chest to my back, his breathing in sync with mine, and so I untagle myself from him and get up, to brush my teeth, take a shower, and pull on the same dress I've been wearing for a week now.

Then I wake James.

He looks much softer when he's sleeping, I almost don't want to. But we really should get going, I think: by now someone must have found the body, and cops well on their way, and if not, well, we don’t have much longer to stay here. 

We don't have much time to get to my dad's before the police catch up with us.

James finally wakes up with a sleepy smile, stuck in that brief moment when you forget that this hell is your life. It fades fast, though, like it always does, and with a sigh and he gets into the shower. I clean up the room while he does so. 

It's still too much, sometimes. What we've done? It wasn't supposed to be like this, not at all - I just wanted to get away from my mom, my step-dad, my entire fucking life. Did I sign up for murder? Fuck no. But it's done now, we've killed someone, and I know that we're going to have to pay the price sooner or later. I don't want to pay for it alone, and I don't want James to pay for it, either. Not if he did it for me.

It's a long ass drive till we get to my dad's, and I'm thankful for this final uninterrupted time we'll have together. I want to kiss James, hold his hand, let him know that he means so much to me. Can you fucking believe that shit? At the start of all this I chose James because he was there. I would chosen anyone, to be honest. I didn't give a fuck how I got out of that town as long as I got out.

But he gave me a taste of freedom, something that I’d wanted for a long time. Is it like I’d thought it be? Fuck no. But it’s mine. It’s ours. And I love that he gave me this chance at all.

I hear the shower turn off just I shove the last food wrapper into the trash can. I sit cross legged on the newly made bed and wait for him. I will him to take as long as he wants, even though we’re almost out of time - is it wrong to want to stay here in our small paradise for a little while longer? 

A cloud of steam follows James out of the bathroom when he opens the door. He's got a towel wrapped around with waist, shakes his head to get rid of excess water. His curls dripdripdrip water onto the carpet. If we were in a different situation, I’m sure I’d say something about his ridiculously gangly body, too.

I watch him get dressed, pulling on his shirt last. But he pauses, looking at me suddenly, like he knows I'm thinking about him.

"You alright?" he asks, pausing with shirt in his hand. I drink him in, burning the way he looks into my brain. I love his hair, and the soft highlights he has. I like his soft spokenness and the fact that he never fucking eats anything. I think he's properly beautiful, with his curls and his eyes and a smile that males me weak. I drink him in like I'm looking at an angel, cauae I think I just might be. 

I smile, genuine. 

"Yeah." I say. "I'm good." 

-  
I should have known that my father would be an absolute prick - for a second I actually feel bad for my mother. I should have fucking known that he'd turn us in. If he didn't love me then, why would he love me now?

I wish we weren't here.I wish we hadn’t driven all this way, expecting something more than this. I wish we hadn't come at all. I wish my father were dead.

James and I should have kept driving instead, miles of road ahead of us, no destination in sight.

He'd never say it, but this is my fault. I know it. But he'd never leave me, either. I know that, too.

The walls seem to be closing in, dwindling as the amount of time we have left does, too. The female cop is trying to make us turn ourselves in, make us give up, says that since I’m a minor, I won’t be in trouble, but since James just turned 18, he might be.

Wait, 18?

“It’s your birthday?” He mentioned that it was soon, and even though now i not the time, it feels very important.

He tells me yes, it's his birthday.

"Your eighteenth?"

He nods.

"Why didn't you tell me?” I say. “I would've gotten you a present."

He shrugs, like it's nothing, but I feel like an asshole now. I shouldn't have forgotten, how could I have? Yes, we’re living a very difficult life right now - but I should have remembered. 

Suddenly we hear the sound of police cars, sirens blaring as they grind over the gravel and stop. Me, James, and the snitch of a cop (looks like I'm surrounded by snitches, doesn’t it?) all look to the window, to see that there's four or more cars parked and waiting now, Waiting for us like we're real criminals, but they don't know. They don't fucking know! 

I'm so angry. I’m angry that this is James’ birthday, that this cop is faking niceties, that she called for backup on two children. That my dad called them here to begin with. I just want to get away, get out of here, take James with me and never look back.

I snatch the gun out of James's hands and hit the cop as hard as I can. I know I shouldn't, but I do it anyway, because if I'm going down completely fucked, I'm doing it in my way of fucked.  
James wants to ask what I'm doing, I can tell, but we don't have the time. We leave out the back of the stupid trailer, buying little time. I can hear my dad yelling that there's no point in running; I hate him so much right now, but not as much as I hate myself for being stupid enough to fall for it.

We run as fast as we can, but we know this is the end. We're out of time,we’re done, we’re at the end of everything. There’s nothing but beach in front of us, there’s nowhere to go, but we’re still running anyway, still trying. That’s love, isn’t it? Trying even though it pointless? Because you care so much about who you’ve chosen to be with. What James and I have, it’s love. It has to be. It didn’t happen the way love usually does, but it’s mine, it ours, it’s what we’ve created and what we’ve earned.

I know we won’t make it out of this. 

I indulge myself for a second, imagine that James and I get away from here, eventually settling down to live in some place with endless sun and miles of beach. Or maybe somewhere cold; ice for days, never getting warm. It doesn’t fucking matter, does it? It’s not real.

I know now what people mean to each other. What we mean to each other.I’m almost 18 - I think I finally understand what people mean to each other.

Right now, I wouldn't change anything that happened - because yes, I am scared. But not like I should be, no, I'm scared because I don't want to lose James. Because I know of only one way to stay together, and I have already decided to do it.

Him and I, we're in this together, and that...

That means something to me. 

-

James and I run across the beach, him using one hand to hold mine and the other to carry the gun. When he hits me with it, leaves me by the police car, I’m amazed - what the fuck does he think he’s doing? I know he thinks that the time has come for him to be a real protector the only way he knows how, but I don’t want it. I don’t fucking want it! The sound of me screaming his name echoes in his ears, because I want it to, but James doesn't look back, because he can't.

Bullets whiz past him, and I know the only reason he’s alive is sheer luck. I know he doesn't care if he gets hit; as long as I’m safe, but I’m not safe without him!

If James were to turn around, look back just the once; he'd see me struggling so violently against the people holding me back that I'll be bruised, sure enough. The way I'm screaming his name like I don’t know any other word, because he shouldn't have left me. If he were to look at me now, he'd see the only thing I’m thinking about is him, that I have to get to him. 

He'd see me realize the idea to use my feet to kick one cop in the groin, to stand so I can slam the other's head into my knee. He'd see me run to him as fast as I can, still calling after him, James, James, desperate to be by his side, because we are in this together.

I am by his side in seconds - I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my life.

James stops running, panting so heavily his heart must be bursting. Bullets are still whizzing by us, but we miraculously stay unharmed. If there’s a God, he’s sure as fuck watching over us right now.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demand to know, putting a hand to my aching side. "Did you think you could just leave me?"

James shifts his weight. It's suddenly become just the two of us, amidst all the chaos. 

"You have to go back, Alyssa.” he says. “You didn't do anything wrong; you could still get out of this. Tell them it was all me, that you had nothing to do with it -”

"No." I say. "No! I don't want to. If we die, we die together. I’m not living without you. It's me and you - you agreed."

"Not to death! Goddamnit, Alyssa, I swore I'd never hurt you and I meant it! You have to go back! You have to surrender!"

"I don't have to do shit." I respond.

I lean forward and place my lips on his, soft as can be. There's no eagerness to it; we both know what it means. We linger on this moment, thinking of what could have been, if things hadn't gotten so fucked up. The way we'll miss each other is unlike anything either of us has ever felt before; but what they mean to each other makes it worth it.  
I finally pull back.

"I think this is the end, don't you?" I say. completely casual. "I had a good time with you, you know that, right? Minus the murder, of course."

"Alyssa -" he’s going to try to convince me again.

"Did you have a good time or not?" I interrupt, having none of James’ words.

He thinks on it, but I know that he did.

"I love you, James." I say.. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Alyssa." He seems surprised at how easily the words roll off his tongue, so easy to say because they've been there for a while now. I knew he couldn’t have faked all of what he felt with me.

We turn to face the firing squad, with small smiles on our faces that throw off the police. My hand finds his and I hold on so tight, for this is the last touch we’ll ever feel, the last one that we’ll take with us.

We close our eyes, waiting for a bullet to finally hit its target. We won't have to wait for too long, I know that.

We’re paying for their sins, yes. Should we be paying paying with our lives? I don’t fucking know. We’re just two kids in love, two kids who made a mistake. I don’t know if they’d understand that.

Bullets should not be how our story ends, but I think both James and I knew that this was going to be our fate. I think we’re tired of fighting, I think we’re grateful we’ve been forced to stop.

I think we’re grateful that we have each other, too. It would be the worst to be here at the end, completely alone.

We may have fucked up, big time, but at least we were given love. At least something good came out of all of this.

At least we found other, because I think I’ve just been shot, and I’d hate to die alone.


	3. James

Alyssa’s blood stains my hands, and I immediately want to forget it, forget the way it feels. The white flowers on her dress turn to a deep, dark red, and the sand beneath her body does the same. I feel her grip on my hand loosen, and she let’s go, and I’m pleading with her to stay, stay with me, I’m sorry I did this to us, I love you, but she’s gone. It’s too late. She died for me, for us. Is this what people mean to each other? Is pain and heartache all that people have to show for their commitment to one another?

Love didn't save us, it didn't do shit - but that doesn't change how I feel.

I know Alyssa wouldn’t want me to blame myself, but I do. 

I still haven’t been shot, but now I am begging for it. I want to forget this, I want this to end, I’m done with this, I don’t want to do this anymore. 

Not without you, Alyssa. Not without you. 

She made this decision, yes, but I wish she hadn’t. I don’t want this. I don't want this at all.

The gun that I was carrying rests beside me, half buried in the sand. I suppose I could just... just.. do it myself. Do I? No. But if I reach for it, they'll think I intend to do harm.  
So I reach for it.

And then. Thankfully, right then, I am granted peace.

I fall back with the sheer force of being shot; I didn't know it would hurt so much. Alyssa and I are laying side by side, and I look at her one last time, her hair and her lips and her freckles, her eyelashes, I linger on it all for a moment, before finally closing my eyes. Before giving in to the darkness, and letting my word turn black.

There are so many things that I should want to change. I mean, I monumentally fucked up. But if any of those mistakes keep me from Alyssa, then I'm not interested. Is this how I wanted to go? No. Is this what Alyssa deserved? No. I tried to save her, I did, you know I did - but you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. 

And if I have to die, I'm glad it's with her, this girl who stepped into my life and changed it forever. 

She taught me what people mean to each other. Even if it's this, just this, some good but mostly bad, I'm glad she did. I'm glad I was given the chance to know her, and love her, because she was worth it, and I know that I'll love her forever, even in death.

So, the big question is: If I could do it all over again, what would I change?

The answer?

Nothing.


End file.
